Page 115 of Salt Between the Wolves

By midday, the snow had finally stopped, and weak winter sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the long room, illuminating drifting dust and the countless objects gathered there over generations.

Unlike the halls of Frostvein or the fortress chambers of Ironfang, the room felt lived in rather than ceremonial.

Maps covered one wall, some faded with age and others marked with fresh ink and recently charted routes, while shelves held strange objects collected from distant places: carved figures of dark wood, polished shells larger than Eira's hand, navigation instruments whose purpose she could only guess, and glass bottles filled with dried herbs that perfumed the room with sharp, earthy scents of juniper, sagewood, salt, and the faint resinous aroma of treated timber.

Everything reminded her that this house belonged to people who looked outward rather than inward, and although the sea was nowhere in sight, it somehow felt present all the same.

Lyra sat opposite her at the long table, attempting to teach her a card game whose rules appeared remarkably flexible whenever the girl found herself losing.

"You just invented that."

"I absolutely did not."

"You changed the rules."

"I improved them."

"That's not the same thing."

"It is if you're winning."

Eira narrowed her eyes before replying.

"Convenient."

"Thank you."

Across the table, Finn failed to hide his sigh as he sat surrounded by papers and ledgers, copying figures into a larger book with the expression of someone enduring a deeply unfair punishment.

"You aren't helping."

"I gave up helping years ago."

Lyra looked offended.

"I am perfectly reasonable."

"That's what worries everyone."

The exchange earned a brief laugh from Eira, and across the room Maelin looked up from the collection of correspondence spread across her lap, seeming relieved to hear it for a moment before the expression disappeared almost immediately.

Eira noticed the change because she had been noticing similar things all day: forgotten thoughts, distracted glances, and conversations that ended too quickly whenever she entered a room.

Something had changed, and although no one had said so aloud, no one needed to.

A knock interrupted the room, drawing everyone's attention toward the door as it opened and one of the household stewards stepped inside with snow still clinging to his boots.

His gaze found Aldric immediately.

"My lord."

Something in his voice altered the atmosphere at once, replacing ease not with alarm but with expectation.

The household steward inclined his head before delivering his message.

"Lord Leander's riders crossed the eastern bridge an hour ago."

Silence settled over the room, carrying not surprise but acceptance, as though everyone present had spent the day waiting for those exact words.